By Our Own Hands
by Surreal13
Summary: Rating just to be safe. Non slash. Tristan comes back from a scouting mission injured. Bors Tristan friendship fic.
1. Chapter One

**Title: **By Our Own Hands

**Author: **Surreal44

**Rating: **PG-13, to be safe

**Pairings: **None.

**Archive: **If you like :)

**Summary: **Bors finds an injured Tristan and cares for him. Friendship fic, non-slash. Rated for blood, possible mild swearing.

**Feedback:** If you all would be so kind, yes please.

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"Ah, Bors. I've been looking for you." A wiry man with red hair trotted up to the tall knight and fell into step with him. "I'm glad to see you up and about."

Bors grunted at the man. "I've been 'up and about' for over a week now, Gaius. What do you want?" Despite his gruff tone he gave the quartermaster a small smile. Gaius was one of the few Romans that he found tolerable. "Arthur's orders?" Before Gaius could respond a sharp voice was heard over the din of the fort.

"Gaius! I need to talk to you!" shouted a tribune by the name of Marcus Antoninus Cicero. He was every inch the Roman, from the dark hair down to the arrogant attitude. "I need a new shield. You promised me a new one last week, and I'm still waiting!"

Gaius made a face and rolled his eyes while Bors sniggered quietly. "I'll meet you out here in a bit while you take care of the brat," he suggested. Gaius nodded his agreement then quickly schooled his face to concern as he turned to face the irate tribune.

Still grinning to himself, Bors walked towards the legate's quarters that also served as Arthur's office. If he hurried, he might still have enough time to get a drink at the tavern before Jols or any number of the pages at the fort went looking for him.

"No wonder Arthur spends so much time in that bloody chapel," he muttered to himself as he neared his commander's room. "It's the only place to get away from everyone!"

Bors entered Arthur's room and paused for a moment to allow his eyes to adjust to the room's lighting. Arthur hadn't bothered to open the shutters to the window before he left, so the only light in the room came from a few candles.

A few tankards of ale and crusts of bread littered the floor and benches from the evening before, when Arthur had gone over the day's plans with a small group of men. Gingerly picking his way through the mess, Bors made his way to Arthur's desk and started searching the scrolls and papers for the wood tablet inscribed in charcoal swipes with Arthur's instructions. Finally finding the one he wanted, he hurriedly picked it up with a flourish and turned to leave

In his haste Bors knocked a scroll into the other papers on the desk, sending them scattering across the room. Muttering a few curses under his breath he tucked the orders into his belt and picked up some fallen scrolls. He set them back on the desk before he began searching for the scrolls that had slid away into dark shadows.

He stumbled over something. Snatching up the scroll, he turned to see what he'd tripped over and nearly dropped the scroll again. Tristan, one of his brother knights and the best scout he had ever seen, was sitting in the corner, his slender form leaning against the wall in what must a have been a terribly uncomfortable position.

Not only was Tristan a great scout, he was the second best archer out of the knights. _He ought to be, I taught him. _Bors thought smugly. Then he frowned. His friend didn't seem to be awake, which was odd. Tristan was always the first up at the slightest sound.

Slightly concerned, Bors knelt beside Tristan's slumped over body and quietly spoke. "Tristan-Tristan, it's Bors." His concern went up a notch when he didn't get a response. Carefully, he reached over to gently shake the scout's shoulder, hoping that the motion wouldn't startle his fellow knight into pulling a blade. Brown eyes slowly opened and focused blearily on the large knight.

"Bors?" Tristan mumbled sleepily. "Whatwhere am I?" He lifted a clumsily bandaged hand up to rub his temple as if his head ached. There was a glazed, confused expression in his eyes that made him look so young and vulnerable that it tugged at Bors' heart.

"You're in Arthur's room. Were you waiting for him?" Bors questioned. He kept a steadying hand on Tristan's shoulder and squeezed it gently when the other's eyes started to close again. "Stay awake for me."

"Arthur? Is he back yet? I have a report for him." Tristan said, suddenly awake. He moved to sit up and ended up sagging back against the wall with a soft moan when his stiff muscles protested at the quick movement.

The brief moment in what small light there was told Bors that exhaustion wasn't the only thing wrong with the younger man. "You're hurt." He ignored the faint protest that Tristan put up; instead he tugged the left arm out of the shadow so he could examine the blood soaked scrap of cloth tied around it. "Is there anything urgent in the report?"

"No. Just some troop"

"If it's not urgent, then Arthur can wait. He's not here anyway." Bors interrupted. "He left me in charge." He stood then, and offered a hand to Tristan to help him up.

A small, wobbly smile made its way across Tristan's face. "Why would he do something stupid like that?" Resolutely ignoring the hand that Bors offered him, he climbed to his feet on his own, his face turning an alarming shade of white. "See? I can walk." He gasped out the words right before his legs gave out under him.

Bors caught the slender scout around the waist, bracing himself so that he could keep the other man from hitting the floor. He still nearly lost his balance when Tristan gasped in pain and suddenly went slack in his arms, the dead weight almost knocking him over. Bors gingerly shifted the knight in his arms so he could brush away the hair from Tristan's face to see if the scout was still conscious. His fingers grazed across a lump and a sticky mess of blood close to the temple. _Too close_. Bors thought. _Another inch down…_

Very gently now, Bors eased the limp body onto the floor, careful to cradle his friend's head to prevent more injury to it. Determined now that Tristan needed to be looked over by the surgeon the giant knight worked on reviving his friend. He held Tristan's uninjured hand in his and rubbed it, hoping to get a response from the unconscious man. "Wake up, Tristan."

Tristan stirred, moaned, raising his hand up to rub his head before letting it drop onto his stomach. "Tristan?" Bors ventured after a moment when his friend still hadn't opened his eyes. Tristan turned his head towards the sound and finally lifted his lids. "Bors?" The soft voice was rough from exhaustion and pain. "What happened?"

"You passed out." Bors said flatly. "Now let me help you." His tone allowed for no room to argue, but that didn't stop Tristan from doing his best to be disagreeable. As soon as Bors had gotten him into a sitting position the younger knight tried to scoot away.

"I promise I'll rest," he wheedled. "Just as soon as Arthur gets back I'll go to my room." Bors drew in a breath and tightened his grip on the scout's shoulder and arm to prevent him from moving. He was seriously considering knocking the boy over the head and dragging him to the surgeon. "And besides," Tristan pointed out in a reasonable tone of voice, "You're still injured, so you shouldn't really be helping me anyway."

"You are not waiting for Arthur," Bors said firmly through gritted teeth, his patience clearly spent. "You are getting up and you will rest now. Understand?" Tristan winced as if Bors' thundering voice caused him pain then nodded, the scout's tense body relaxing in the Bors' grip as the last shred of defiance seeped from his slender frame. The vulnerable look was back in his friend's eyes, making Bors feel a little guilty. "There is no shame in letting others help sometimes." He chided gently.

"I know." Tristan murmured, leaning heavily against Bors as they finally managed to stand up. "It's just that Arthur depends on me..." his voice trailed off as he swayed uncertainly on his feet. "I really should wait."

Bors ignored him and began guiding his friend to the door. He noticed with dismay that Tristan was favoring his right leg. "What happened to your foot, brat?" he demanded. The archer frowned and looked at the offending appendage.

"Not my foot," he explained between labored breaths. "It's my ankle. Caught it in a tree root." The two friends made their way outside. The bright sunlight caused Bors to wince with a sudden headache. Beside him, Tristan stumbled and fell against his sturdy friend and whimpered as the light hit his eyes.

"Bors." Tristan gasped, his voice oddly choked. "Bors, I think I'm going to—" he never finished as his body was seized by a violent spasm, and the small amount of food he'd eaten splattered on Bors and the ground. Tristan let go of Bors and dropped to his knees, bracing himself with his arms as his body continued to retch.

Somewhat nauseated himself, Bors knelt beside Tristan anyway, rubbing his back and muttering soothing words until the illness passed. The buzz of voices had grown louder, and when Bors looked up there was a crowd gathered, watching the two knights. Tristan's head hung low between his hunched shoulders, his gaze avoiding the faces of the soldiers surrounding them. The older knight gently drew Tristan against his chest, and cast a glare that promised retribution at the people around. "What are you lot looking at?" he snapped. "Don't you have some training to do, or do I need to give you some drills?"

Bors was not the most highly respected or well liked of the knights, but he could inspire fear when he wanted to. Immediately after he had spoken the crowd dispersed. Satisfied that they were alone again, Bors looked at the trembling figure he held in his arms.

Tristan looked terrible. His face was pale, except for a high color in his cheeks caused from the exertion of throwing up. Dark circles shadowed under his eyes, and a few tears of pain still clung to long black lashes. Tristan's skin was cold to the touch, and Bors wondered just how much blood his friend had lost. _How long have you been injured, brat? What happened out there?_

"Just like the first time you drank too much ale, eh?" Bors asked, trying to mask his growing fear. Tristan let out a sound that was a mix between a laugh and a sob. "Not even close," he said hoarsely.

When Bors felt that Tristan could stand, he helped his friend to his feet and they continued on with Tristan using him more and more as a crutch. "Bors, I could wait in Arthur's room." Tristan grumbled, his stubbornness rising to the surface now that he didn't have to concentrate so hard on staying on his feet. "Wait…where are we going? This isn't the way back to our room." He said, noticing for the first time which direction they were moving in.

Bors stopped and glared at Tristan. "You can barely stand, Tristan. You are going to the surgeons."

Tristan yanked his arm free from Bors, an annoyed expression crossing his ashen face even as he weaved dangerously on his feet. "I'm fine, Bors. I'm not a child. I can take care of -" as he attempted to step away he stumbled, landing hard on his right ankle. He crumpled to the ground and didn't move.

Bors rolled his eyes, gazing at the sky to ask whatever gods resided there to give him patience. It was so typical of Tristan to collapse after declaring that he could take care of himself. He knelt down and turned the knight over. Tristan's chest rose and fell unevenly, his eyes flickering partially open, a dazed expression on his face.

"Will you listen to me now?" Bors asked gently, wrapping a strong hand around a slender shoulder and gently brushing Tristan's hair out of his face with the other. Tristan blinked up at him. "I don't think I can get back up," he answered, sounding surprised.

"I know, Tristan." Bors responded. He had wondered how far Tristan could push his body before it finally gave out. He knew Tristan would resent what he was going to say next, but there was no other option. "I'll carry you."

Tristan shut his eyes, defeat etched in the lines on his face. Bors squeezed his shoulder sympathetically. "No one is watching, lad. Let me do this for you."

Tristan looked up at Bors, the memories from a different time and place passing between them, and finally the young man responded with a barely audible "Fine."

"You're a bit taller than the last time I had to do this," Bors muttered, pondering briefly the best way to carry Tristan. He helped Tristan to sit once more, the little color on Tristan's face fleeing at the motion. "Just another second, Tristan…I don't think I'll be able to carry you in my arms...still have stitches in the one."

Tristan simply nodded, too sick and weary to argue how he was carried. The fact that Tristan had stopped arguing frightened Bors; Tristan never gave in without arguing the entire time. With a grunt Bors hoisted the weak knight onto his shoulder. He tried to be as gentle as he could, but Tristan still moaned, twitched and went still. "Tristan?"

There wasn't a response. Warm liquid seeped from the limp body, soaking into Bors' shirt. Bors quickened his pace to the surgeons, real fear driving him now as he realized Tristan was injured more badly than he had first expected. Gaius, the gods bless the man, was clearing a path through the mass of staring soldiers for him so he could concentrate on not jarring Tristan so much. With each step the blood seemed to flow more quickly. "What the hell did you do to yourself?" Bors muttered to the unconscious man on his back. Finally Bors reached the surgeon's and hurried inside.

**tbc...**


	2. Chapter Two

Title: By Our Own Hands

Author: Surreal

Rating: PG-13 for minor violence later. Non-slash

Summary: Tristan is injured while out scouting. Bors takes care of him.

Beta: Big thanks to pharaohskitty for looking this over and for her encouragement. Thanks to Devan and gladiatorgirl from FK for their encouragement, and huge thanks to SueN. From EKT for her help with Tristan's babbling.

Disclaimer: I don't own them, and I make no money from this. Movie version from Jerry Bruckheimer

_KA_

Bors walked as quickly as he could into the surgeon's, always keeping in mind the precious burden he carried, and went directly to a table, where Gaius helped him to ease the Tristan's limp body from Bors' broad shoulders to the wooden surface. Barely had the unconscious scout been laid out on the table when the surgeon, who went by the name Castillus, pushed by Bors to cut open Tristan's shirt to reveal a blood-soaked bandage that had partially slipped off the sluggishly bleeding wound.

"That's his cloak." Bors muttered, eyes rolling to the sky as if to once again seeking guidance. "Idiot. Gets himself cut up and uses his cloak of all things to bandage himself with. Where were your emergency supplies? We're going to talk, you and I." He stated firmly to the unresponsive Tristan.

Castillus harrumphed to himself and peeled the bandage away so he could examine the long gash that started at Tristan's stomach and ended at his hip. The edges of the wound were raw and red, and the surgeon was pleased to see that the infection had not spread beyond that. With some cleaning, stitching and a bit of luck the wound would close quickly.

"Do you know of any other wounds?" The gray-haired man asked Bors, gathering the things he would need to clean and stitch the injury. He handed Bors a thick strip of leather about six inches long. "Put this between his teeth so he doesn't bite his tongue."

Bors complied with the order, his rough hands gentle as they adjusted Tristan's head. "He has a head injury that was bleeding. His hand is cut, so is his arm. He also has an injury to his ankle. Stubborn brat." Bors said fondly, smoothing back tangled locks from Tristan's gray face.

Gaius hovered nearby, anxious to be of some help but not sure what he could do. Castillus motioned him over. "You will have to hold his legs. Bors will hold his arms in case he awakens while I am sewing. He could injure himself more severely if he moves too much while I'm closing this injury."

The wound was cleaned thoroughly by the surgeon, and then the slow process of stitching began. Barely had Castillus begun when Tristan grew restive, his forehead creased in a frown as he struggled against those who held him down. The instant Bors felt the strong muscles tense in his friend's body he started to speak quietly to the barely conscious man, hoping to calm Tristan.

Bors gazed down as pain-glazed brown eyes flickered open. Tristan was ready to strike out, but when he realized who was standing over him he became confused. He swallowed and tried to speak but the strip of leather prevented him from forming the words. He blinked up at Bors, fear beginning to creep into the expressive eyes.

"You're safe, Tristan." Bors said, switching to the more familiar tribal tongue. "The surgeon is stitching you up. Do you remember what happened?" Tristan's eyes wandered the room, his lethargic mind struggling to remember how he had ended up in the care of Castillus.

"Mmmph." Tristan endeavored to once again speak around the leather, and his eyes grew wide at his inability to speak. Bors squeezed his shoulder and looked at the surgeon.

"Is it safe to remove the gag? He's awake now." The elderly Roman thought about it for a moment, then nodded at Bors, who swiftly remove the offending piece of leather. "Here we go, brat. Feel better?"

Tristan started to nod, and then seemed to think better of it, a soft moan escaping his dry lips. "Yes…" Tristan's voice was weaker than it had been earlier, a mere thread of sound now. "I was in a skirmish with Woads. Right?" Tristan questioned, dark brows drawn together as the hazy memories threatened to slip away. Bors risked moving a hand from Tristan's shoulder to his cheek in a gesture of comfort. Tristan sleepily leaned into the touch, needing the small contact to reassure himself that he was really awake and safe, and not in enemy territory.

"I'm not sure. You never told me what happened." Bors said, purposely drawing Tristan into a conversation to keep him awake and distracted from what the surgeon was doing. "What's the last thing you remember?"

"Mmm. We were outside." Tristan said, struggling to keep his eyes open. "You were yellin' at me. Like always." Tristan grinned lopsidedly. "And I was in Arthur's room. And the stable. And the forest…" Tristan stopped and frowned at Bors, who was chuckling softly. "Why are you laughing?" The scout asked, sounding somewhat offended. That only seemed to cause Bors to laugh harder.

Tristan glared over the surgeon at Bors. "You don't have to laugh. I don't laugh at you when you're hurt, do I? And don't call me 'brat.' Galahad's the brat, not me. Lancelot can be a brat. Especially to Arthur." He scowled and shook his head. "He shouldn't be like that to Arthur. Arthur doesn't deserve it." He lifted his chin and stared belligerently at Bors, adding defiantly, "I'm not a brat."

Castillus suddenly had to clear his throat, his lips curling slightly at Tristan's petulant declaration. Bors sobered as Tristan's countenance grew stormy. The last thing they needed was for Tristan to throw a tantrum and try to get up in his condition. "Nothing, brat. Just a passing thought. What happened on the mission?"

Tristan squirmed in protest that Bors was still laughing, and gasped as pain jolted through his body. Castillus placed a gentle hand on Tristan's chest. "Don't move. I'm almost finished." He gave Tristan a small smile before bending back to his delicate task.

"I ran into some Woads." Now that he'd been reminded of the pain Tristan was having a difficult time blocking it out. "Small party of them surprised me when I was taking care of my ankle. Got stabbed in the arm, and got a knock on the head. Ran into some more while resting. Fought them too, but don't remember anything 'cept riding back to the fort." Tristan's eyes flickered shut. It was such an effort to keep them open…

Bors frowned as he listened to Tristan speak. "You don't remember what happened then?" When he didn't get a response he shook Tristan's shoulder gently. "Tristan?" Bors stroked Tristan's pale cheek again, trying to keep his friend awake a little longer. "Come on brat, talk to me."

"Feel sick." Tristan moaned softly. He tried to open his eyes but found that he just didn't have the energy to do so. "Can't – can't…." His voice was fading, his mind already drifting towards the beckoning darkness that would smother the pain for just a little while.

"Stay with me, Tristan. Castillus is almost done." Bors coaxed, watching in dismay as Tristan struggled to open his eyes and failed. Tristan made a soft sound of distress and leaned more deeply against Bors' hand. Castillus finished tying the last stitch and patted Tristan's shoulder.

"We're done now. I want to look at your ankle next." He said, eyeing the swollen joint with concern. "Did you hear anything crack when you injured it?"

Tristan swallowed with difficulty and began mumbling about Woads and his horse. "There was a tree." Tristan's voice was barely audible. He gasped as the surgeon began to cut the boot away. Even though the aged hands were steady and gentle, little dots of fiery agony shot up his leg. "A tree. And…" Tristan's brow creased as if he wasn't sure what he was going to say next. "Don't know."

The last was spoken in a breathy whisper. Bors felt the body in his grasp go lax, Tristan's head lolling against his hand as Tristan's strength ebbed. The scout licked his lips and tried to speak again, but it was obvious to Bors that the effort was just too much for the man.

"Stay?" Was all that Tristan could manage, and even that was so softly spoken that if Bors hadn't been paying attention he would not have heard it at all.

Bors closed his eyes and willed the burning sensation in his eyes to go away. He couldn't remember the last time Tristan had asked him for anything, or when he had sounded so vulnerable. "Always, brat. You know that." Tristan sighed in relief and gave up the battle to remain conscious, finally allowing himself to sink into darkness. "Rest, Tristan. I'll watch over you."

_KA_

With Tristan unconscious once more, the surgeon worked more easily, able to focus more on fixing the damaged body before him instead of worrying about the discomfort the younger man would be feeling. Twice more Tristan struggled to the surface of consciousness, only to slip back under before he truly became aware of his surroundings.

Each time Bors had had to hold the man down to prevent him from tearing out delicate stitches in his side and arm. Castillus took his time with each injury; even the smallest of scratches was carefully tended. An hour and a quarter went by before he finally straightened.

Tristan had many stitches, not only in his arm and side, but a few in other places where a sword or branch had dug deeply into the skin. His hand had been cleaned, stitched and bandaged. The ankle was not broken, but it was badly sprained, and would take a while to heal. "I think he out-did himself this time." Castillus said, smiling up at Bors as he double-checked that everything was to his satisfaction. "Are the two of you in competition to see who gets the most stitches?"

Bors chuckled and rubbed at the still tender scar on his head. He watched Castillus' smile fade while he examined Tristan's head. The cut had not needed stitches, yet the head wound had the surgeon muttering in concern, his dark eyes narrowing as he inspected the injury.

He peeled back the eyelids of the unconscious man, frowning as he watched the pupils' slow reaction to the light. He closed the eyes and pinched Tristan's arm, his frown deepening at the lack of response from Tristan.

"He's deeply unconscious." Castillus stated finally. "It could be a while before he awakens"

Bors looked up sharply from his study of Tristan's still face. "Do you think he will wake up?" The giant knight didn't want to contemplate the idea that Tristan could move beyond this world. He would prefer to not think on it at all, but he knew by the look on Castillus' face that there was a chance that Tristan would never recover.

Castillus pursed his lips and chose his words carefully. He didn't want to give false hope to Bors, yet he didn't want all hope to be banished either. "He has some serious injuries, Bors. The blood loss alone is tremendous. However," the surgeon smiled fondly at the man stretched out on his table. "Tristan is strong and young. With plenty of rest and fluids he should recover in time."

"What about the infection?" Bors wanted to lay it all out in the open now, so he knew what he would be fighting against. He would not give Tristan over to death without a battle. He'd been taking care of Tristan since they were just children and he had no intention of letting up now.

Again the Castillus thought it over. "I believe I purged all of it. We must watch the wounds carefully to be certain that if infection should return we can stop it before it spreads." Castillus patted Bors on the shoulder. "I'll have a litter brought, and you can take him to his room to rest. I will be over in a short while to check on him. If he should awaken, give him only small sips of water, and even limit how much of that he drinks."

Bors dipped his head in acknowledgement of the surgeon's words, and waited patiently for the litter to be brought. Tristan was carefully moved from the surgery to the room he shared with Bors. He had groaned as they shifted him onto his bed, but other than that Tristan had shown no other signs of waking the past few hours.

While Tristan lay in his deep stupor, Bors sat on a rough wooden chair beside the bed, alternately bathing Tristan's feverish forehead with cool water or holding the uninjured hand and talking to him softly. Bors was in the middle of recounting an amusing episode that had occurred while Tristan had been on a mission several months before, involving a drunken Lancelot, an even more intoxicated Gawain and a suspicious-looking rash, when a soft knock on the door interrupted him.

A pleasantly rounded woman with flaming red hair entered the room without waiting for a reply, a tray balanced precariously in her small hands. Six months along into her pregnancy with swollen ankles and a scowl on her face, she was the most beautiful thing Bors had ever seen.

"I'll be back in a minute, brat." Bors said softly, laying Tristan's too-warm hand back on the bed. Bors stood and stretched his massive body and moved towards Vanora, the love of his life.

Bors took the tray from Vanora's small hands and set it on the table before sweeping the red-haired woman up in a hug and kissing her passionately on the mouth. She was full of such spirit and fire, his little Irish woman. He couldn't imagine life without her. Vanora returned his kiss with matching passion, her sore back and worry over Tristan temporarily forgotten in the flood of lust and love pouring from the giant man holding her.

Bors rested a hand on Vanora's belly as he kissed her, smiling against her lips when the babe inside her stirred and moved. Even after four children he felt a sense of exuberance and amazement about the female body and the tiny life growing within. At last Bors ended the kiss and carefully set Vanora back on her feet. He'd only dropped her once before, when they had first met, and the action she took against him assured that such a thing would never, ever happen again. The baby kicked again, and Bors couldn't resist from bending down and pressing a kiss to Vanora's belly, right against where the baby's foot was pressing against the wall of the womb.

With her feet back on the ground Vanora became practical again. "How is he?" She asked Bors softly as he straightened. They both looked over at the prone form on the bed. Bors' battle-scarred face softened as he looked at the young man he had taken in as a brother.

"He's been unconscious for a while now, but the surgeon said it's to be expected. Blood loss and a head injury, you know. If infection doesn't set in the surgeon thinks Tristan will recover." Bors tried to sound certain so that he could reassure Vanora but on the inside he was quivering with the fear that Tristan might not survive this.

Vanora walked over and tenderly pressed the back of her hand against Tristan's scraped cheek. "He's warm." She said. When Bors had first come into her life, she had accepted Dagonet easily into her fold. Tristan had been more stand-offish; almost shy when in her presence. It had taken considerable coaxing from the red-haired woman to get the withdrawn scout to trust her. Now she couldn't imagine life without him.

Tristan moaned in his sleep and shifted slightly. Without warning the scout shot into a sitting position, grasping Vanora painfully by the arms. Wild, fever-glazed eyes stared at the couple uncomprehendingly. "Release me!" Tristan rasped at them, his fingers digging into Vanora's skin. "I will not give you what you want!"

Bors wondered who or what Tristan was seeing. Moving slowly, he held his hands up to show the knight that he was unarmed. Vanora spoke before Bors could, keeping her voice soft and gentle, as if she were talking to one of her children. "Tristan, you're safe now." The scout stared at her blankly, hopelessly.

"No where is safe. Not out here." He whispered. His grip lessened on Vanora's arms, and she lifted a hand up to touch his cheek. Tristan flinched from her touch, then leaned into it in acceptance. Vanora leaned a little closer to Tristan and began speaking to him quietly, cupping his face in her hands and forcing him to look her in the eyes. It seemed to take a long time to Bors, but finally Tristan began to relax, even allowing Vanora to help him lay back down. Tristan was asleep a moment later, his breathing deep and even now.

Vanora turned and glared at Bors after she realized Tristan had lost consciousness again. "This is all your fault!" She snapped at him angrily. Bors gaped at her in surprise.

"Wha – huh?" Was the most intelligent thing the poor man could come up with while the love of his life shot him such a withering glare that by rights he should have turned into dust.

Tears glittered in Vanora's green eyes. "You were supposed to have trained him to stay safe and to take care of himself!" Vanora didn't raise her voice. She never shouted, but she was gifted in letting one know just how annoyed she could be with the slightest inflection of her voice. "He was due back three days ago! Why didn't anyone go looking for him?"

Bors sighed heavily, and wrapped Vanora up in his arms so she could weep against his shoulder. She was worried for Tristan, and he was beginning to suspect that she kept closer track of Tristan's missions than even he did. "He's too young for this, Bors." Vanora's muffled voice reached him and he held her closer. He knew she was thinking over what Tristan had said about not being safe.

"I don't know what happened this time, Vanora. But I promise you I'll ask him about it. I won't let him go through this alone." Bors said reassuringly even as he berated himself for not taking closer notice of Tristan the past two years since he started going on missions alone. Vanora nodded against his shoulder, then looked up at him and kissed him on the lips.

"You should eat before the food gets cold." Vanora said, nodding at the tray. "I'll sit with Tristan for a bit while you relax." Bors kissed her again, then helped her settle in the chair before going over to the tray. She had gone all out…there was a small pitcher of wine along with a cup of ale. Beef stew (a special treat), bread, cheese and even a small bowl of fruit.

"Thanks, love." He said to her. Vanora beamed at him before turning back to Tristan. Bors ate in silence, managing to eat his food quickly without making too much noise. Vanora had mocked his eating habits enough that he knew with her unpredictable mood swings even the littlest of annoyances could set her off. If she got angry enough she might start throwing things, and she had excellent aim.

A soft melodic sound brought him out of his thoughts. Vanora was brushing a damp cloth against Tristan's warm forehead and humming softly to him. Tristan turned his head slightly at the sound, his beautiful eyes slowly opening to view the person sitting next to him. He blinked a few times. Bors felt relief swamp him when he saw that the golden eyes held a clarity to them that had been missing just a short while ago.

"Vanora?" Tristan asked uncertainly. Vanora stroked his hair and smiled gently. Tristan did not smile back, but he did move his hand so that it clutched at her wrist.

"Yes Tristan. It's me." Vanora kept her voice soft and soothing. She gently prised Tristan's long fingers from her wrist so she could hold his hand in both of hers.

"Good." He breathed, sinking more deeply into the bed. Vanora offered him a drink of water and Tristan gratefully allowed her to lift his head so she could tip a small amount of liquid into his dry mouth. By the time the scout had taken a few sips his eyes were drooping with exhaustion. She set the cup back down and leaned over to kiss his warm cheek. The scout mumbled something that was too low for Bors to hear and Vanora murmured something in return, watching the scout intently as he drifted in and out of awareness while she continued to run the back of her hand against his temple in a soothing motion.

A few moments of silence passed before Tristan roused himself slightly. "Need to talk to…to…" Tristan sighed in frustration that he couldn't explain what he wanted, though Bors suspected he knew what was going through Tristan's mind. Arthur. Again.

"Never mind that," Vanora said gently. "You need to rest and get well, Tristan."

"But…" Tristan started to protest faintly. Vanora shushed him again so Tristan let his eyes close all the way, too weary to argue. Vanora tucked the blanket up around Tristan some more and held his hand until he sank back into sleep.

The complete trust Tristan had shown Vanora, and the gentleness with which Vanora cared for his friend caused a lump to form in Bors' throat. Tristan didn't let his guard down often. He'd once told Bors that he had to shut himself down, because if he thought too long on the things he'd seen or done while scouting he would have nightmares. If you didn't care then you didn't scream at night when the dreams came.

"How does he seem to you?" Bors asked quietly after a few minutes. Vanora kissed Tristan on the cheek again, stood stiffly and turned to Bors, looking positively furious. _Gods, she was a magnificent creature_, Bors thought in awe even as he inwardly cringed as she began another tirade on how he should have taught Tristan to take better care of himself.

"Does he LOOK fine to you?" She demanded of Bors when he opened his mouth to defend himself. "Look at him! He's still – " There was a soft knock on the door and Vanora stopped mid-sentence, giving Bors one last scathing glare before her face settled into a milder expression when Castillus walked in. The old surgeon looked between Bors and Vanora, and he grinned knowingly.

This was simply too much for Bors, who was tired and grumpy himself. Grumbling to himself, Bors walked over to Vanora and kissed her again, happy when she reciprocated just as passionately. He left the room briefly to take care of nature's call and to escape another possible bout of Vanora's opinions on Tristan's condition. By the time he returned his fiery vixen was absent, leaving Castillus alone with Tristan. The surgeon seemed mightily amused by something. It probably had to do with Vanora. Bors grunted and rolled his eyes, partially relieved that Vanora was gone. There was only so much scolding a man could take.

Bors stomped over to Castillus and asked gruffly, "How is he?" Castillus was examining the stitches, muttering to himself as he did so. He looked up at the larger knight and smiled. "He's doing much better than I expected. He's unconscious again. I expect that it will be a while before he can manage to stay awake for more than a short while."

Tristan seemed so vulnerable, lying so completely still on the bed, his skin ashen and bruised. What if the fever took hold? Bors did not borrow trouble if he could help it, but now Tristan just seemed small and so very young. Some of what Bors was thinking must have shown on his face because Castillus spoke up again. "Bors, he'll be fine. It will just take some time." Bors nodded, because he didn't want to argue with Castillus. Sensing that Bors wanted to be alone, Castillus quietly left the room, closing the door behind him.

Bors took up his place in the chair again, watching the slow rise and fall of Tristan's chest as the knight slept. He stayed there for an hour, bathing Tristan's forehead and neck with cool water to lessen the fever. Finally though Bors had to admit that he needed to get up for a bit, and he went to get a drink from the table. He yawned and looked outside as he drank some more wine. It was well past night fall now, and he debated on whether he should take a brief nap and call on Gaius to take up the watch when yet another knock on the door caught his attention.

"Enter." He said, and was surprised to see Arthur himself stride into the room. The Roman looked slightly battered and exhausted, but he appeared to be in one piece. "Arthur." Bors rumbled. Arthur smiled wearily at Bors, his green gaze falling on Tristan's pale form on the bed for a moment before settling back on the scarred knight standing before him.

Bors waited for Arthur to ask what had happened to Tristan, or maybe Arthur would ask how Tristan was doing. "Bors…Did Tristan give you a report before he went to bed?" Arthur asked urgently. All the tension that had been boiling below the surface during the day finally bubbled over. Arthur was the leader; he should have known that Tristan was pushing himself too hard. Should have seen the haunted look in the scout's eyes, should have noticed that Tristan had to be scraped up off the floor after one of his lone missions.

All of this went through Bors' mind in a split second. Before he could really think about what he was doing, he drew his ham-like fist back and launched a blow that was aimed directly at Arthur's startled face.

TBC

* * *

**Replies to reviewers:**

**Tracy137:**_ Thanks for the review, and thanks for adding this story to your favorites! Sorry for the long wait on the update. I'll try to be faster next time. :)_

**Camreyn: **_I know that others have popped in, but trust me when I say that this will mainly be Tristan/Bors centric. I like the thought of Bors being the 'father/big brother' here too. I'm so pleased that you're enjoying this!_

**camlann:** _Sorry for the long wait. :) I hope it was worth waiting for. The reason for how/when Bors was injured will be done in another story. I sort of have a whole arc planned out for Bors and Tristan, but By Our Own Hands just popped into my mind first. :) Thanks for reading!_

**Raistlins Lover: **_Hehe. Bors may appreciate that soon. He's tired, poor thing. Thanks for reading!_

**elfmage: **_Thank you so much for the kind review. :) I like to see Bors with more depth. I think he's a great guy under all the gruff exterior. I know I took forever writing. hangs head Forgive me:)_

**dog tags:**_ Thanks for reading! I love Tristan too. ;)_

_Well thanks for reading. Yes, Tristan will be all right. Eventually. ;)_

**LostSparrow: **_Thank you for reading! I'm glad you enjoy this story!_

**Marblez:**_Sorry! Here's some more for you. Hope you like the end of the chapter. ;)_

**Sun-Kissed: **_blushes furiously Oh my goodness...Thanks for that review. I doubt it's one of the best Tristan fics, but I'm humbled that you said that. I hope you enjoy this update. And yes...I've tried very hard to keep the people in character with the movie and the book based on the movie. :) _

_How Bors was injured will come up in the next story (I know, odd little me, posting stories out of order). Hehe. While others will make appearances, this will be a mostly Bors/Tristan centric story. Once again, thanks for the lovely review!_

**SnakeMistress: **_I'm glad you liked it so much. I hope you enjoy this chapter as well. :) I always have to work in some humor in my stories; I'm not sure I could write a fully, totally angsty story. :)_

**Drakcir: **_I think the ending of this chapter may be a cliffhanger too. What do you think:)_

**Narouki: **_Sorry, sorry. Here's the next chapter! Now you know what's happening with Tristan._

**lotrnut: **_Thanks for the enthusiastic review! I'm glad you've enjoyed it!_

**toolazeetpsynin: **_That's an interesting name there. ;) How would you say it? Thanks for reading and reviewing! I really appreciate it!_

**Thanks to everyone who has read this story and especial thanks to those who took the time to review! It's much appreciated!**


	3. Chapter Three

Title: By Our Own Hands, Chapter 3

Author: Surreal44

Disclaimer: Movie-verse. Not mine. sighs

Rating: PG-13 for mild violence and such

Pairing: None. Bors/Tristan friendship fic

Summary: Arthur is stupid, Bors gets angrier, Tristan tries to run away.

Feedback and archive: Yes please.

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At the last possible second Bors whirled around, slamming his fist into the table. For a few minutes the only sound was of Bors' heavy breathing while he struggled to control the rage that burned inside of him. His commander hadn't moved yet. Probably a good thing, Bors thought to himself. Otherwise he might kill Arthur then and there.

Finally Bors stirred and shuffled his large frame over to the table near Tristan's bed to get a spare cloth and some water for his now bruised and bleeding knuckles. As Bors cooled his temper and his hand, Arthur finally spoke up, his voice filled with concern. "Bors, is everything all right?"

Bors felt his temper rise up again at Arthur's words. "No, everything is not all right, Arthur." The large knight said. His dark eyes fastened on the unconscious scout on the bed. How could Arthur not notice that Tristan hadn't moved? How could he not SEE what was right in front of him?

He would make Arthur see… Before he could think better of it, Bors stomped over to Arthur and grabbed the commander by the ear, frogmarching the younger man over to the bed. Bors ignored Arthur's calloused hand that was ineffectually pulling at his wrist to make him to let go. Instead Bors tugged hard on Arthur's ear and used his other hand to put Arthur in a nose lock when the Roman protested.

The now subdued commander stopped at the edge of the bed. At first Arthur couldn't see anything because Bors' large hand obstructed his vision. "Bors," Arthur said somewhat sullenly. "I can't see with your hand blocking my view. Oww!" The commander yelped as Bors pinched his ear again.

Bors roughly let go of Arthur's nose. The first thing Arthur's gaze fell on was Tristan's pale face. The tattooed knight's head was turned to the side slightly, and Arthur could see that there was some deep bruising on his temple. One hand was bandaged and resting on his chest, the other hand lay limply beside him on the bed. Tristan's ankle splinted and bandaged, propped up on a few folded up blankets.

"What happened to him?" Arthur breathed. He couldn't believe what he was seeing. Tristan was never injured…

Bors glared at Arthur. "Oh, I don't know. There are so many possibilities," was the snappish reply. "He wouldn't tell me everything, but I know he ran into Woads."

The Roman sighed heavily and closed his eyes at the news. "He did find trouble then." Arthur murmured to himself. The tone of voice and the expression told Bors a disturbing story.

"Tell me you didn't know that this would happen to him." Bors said, anger and bewilderment coloring his voice. Why would Arthur send Tristan purposely into this kind of danger? It sounded to Bors as if Tristan had been captured. Arthur would never…

Arthur looked up briefly, the flash of guilt in his green eyes confirming Bors' suspicions. "What were you thinking?" Bors demanded hoarsely. "Did he know you were putting him in that kind of danger?"

Arthur bowed his head. "I told him that there might be some trouble. I told him to watch out for them in the east. That's where they were supposed to be. He's always so careful, Bors. What went wrong this time? He always comes back fine."

"Fine?" Bors thundered "Arthur do you never pay attention to him when he gets back? He wears himself to the bone to get the information you want, and sometimes you forget when he returns!" Arthur flinched at Bors' words. He looked like he wanted to speak, but Bors raised his voice again. "Didn't you notice last month how he could barely keep to his feet while talking to you?"

The commander bowed his head again. The truth was, he **hadn't** noticed. Tristan always seemed the same when he gave his reports; calm and collected. The scout never complained, no matter where Arthur asked him to go or what he asked Tristan to do.

"He's never fine after scouting for you." Bors said bitterly. "Look at him, Arthur. Look what you've done to him. He'd give his life for you, and sometimes I think you wouldn't notice. I won't have him dying for a Roman who pretends to be Sarmatian!"

Arthur's face drained of color, and he looked so stricken that for a moment Bors felt a pang of guilt. Bors was too angry to remember that Arthur wasn't bad for a Roman commander. He went easier on his men than most other commanders did and he actually listened to the thoughts and opinions of his men. All he could think of was Tristan lying so very still now, more bruised and broken than Bors had ever seen him.

"Look at him, Arthur. This is your doing."

The young commander looked up at Bors and was about to say something when a slight movement from the bed caught their attention. Tristan came awake so suddenly that neither Arthur nor Bors was prepared for Tristan's sudden leap out of bed. The scout managed to take two halting steps before the blankets tangled around his legs caused him to stumble and fall. He hit the ground hard, still struggling to get away.

The harsh gasps of breath and the faint sound of distress Tristan made cut right to Bors' heart. The giant man knelt beside Tristan and put a hand on the younger man's shoulder to try to calm him. Tristan snarled in response and threw himself at Bors, sinking his teeth into his friend's arm.

Bors shouted in pain and tried to pull away. Tristan used that the momentum to his advantage, pushing off the ground hard with his feet so that he could knock Bors over. Arthur came up behind Tristan as the scout staggered back to his feet and tried to grab his arm. Tristan lost his balance and fell heavily into Arthur.

"Get away from me!" Tristan croaked out. He crawled over to the wall and huddled there, glaring at the two men through the dark fringe that fell over his eyes. Bors noticed a spreading red stain on the boy's bandaged side and his heart sank. Tristan had torn open his wound. Arthur made a move to approach the terrified Tristan but the scout pressed himself harder against the wall and whimpered, scrambling desperately to try to get as far away from Arthur as possible.

"Tristan…" Arthur sounded horrified. "My God, what did they do to you?" Tristan pushed himself against the wall even more and seemed to shrink in on himself. "Bors, what do we do?" Arthur asked, sounding desperate and quite young himself. Bors blinked before responding. He was so used to hearing Arthur be so certain of himself, and looking from the huddled Tristan to his commander, Bors suddenly remembered how young Arthur really was.

"I don't know, Arthur. I've never seen him like this before." Bors replied, his attention turning back to Tristan, who seemed to be coiling in on himself. _"Not good."_ Bors thought uneasily as Arthur took a cautious step toward Tristan.

Tristan seemed so distressed by the movement that Arthur stopped and simply knelt down in front of Tristan, palms upraised so Tristan could see that he had no weapons. "We mean you no harm, Tristan." Arthur said gently.

"How do you know my name?" Tristan sounded panicked. "When did I tell you?" It was the first thing Tristan had said that showed he had some awareness of what was going on, but once again Bors and Arthur looked at each other, uncertain on how to proceed. The door opened, distracting the two men and they looked over to see Vanora enter the room. Vanora looked surprised, then alarmed when she spotted Tristan crouching against the wall.

"Bors, why is he --" Vanora started to ask. Tristan took that opportunity make a sprint for the door. Vanora moved aside instinctively, one hand covering her belly protectively as the scout ran by her. He almost made it out of the room. Luckily, Dagonet entered the room and Tristan collided with the larger knight.

Dagonet caught Tristan easily and steadied the scout, preventing the younger man from toppling over. Tristan blinked up at this new person in confusion and took a step backwards. Dazed, hurt and afraid, Tristan staggered back a few steps and looked around wildly.

"Tristan?" Dagonet questioned cautiously. He did not make a move, sensing that the scout was ready to try and run again at the slightest provocation. The slender body was trembling, whether from fear or cold Dagonet was uncertain. He looked at the others in the room and saw a mixture of shock and fear on their faces.

"He doesn't recognize us." Arthur said miserably.

Bors could see that Tristan's feverish, confused mind was working out how to escape. _"How long can he stay standing?"_ Bors worried to himself. As if in response to his thought, the trembling of the scout's body increased suddenly and Tristan rocked back on his injured ankle.

Tristan whimpered in pain and started to crumble, but Dagonet was there before the scout hit the ground. Dagonet carefully lowered Tristan to the floor, cradling the hot body against his chest. Vanora knelt beside the weary scout and touched his face gently. A soft sound, almost like a sob, escaped from Tristan's lips when he spotted Vanora. The sound almost caused Bors' heart to break right then. Glancing up at Arthur, Bors could see that the scene had shaken Arthur to his core.

Vanora spoke softly to Tristan, gently smoothing away lines of pain on his face while one of his hands gripped her arm tightly. He still didn't seem to recognize her, but his tense body was slowly relaxing as her soothing words washed over him. Golden eyes fluttered, fighting to stay open, but at last Tristan's mind decided that he'd had enough. He mumbled something, and his body went lax while his eyes finally slid shut entirely, his hand sliding down from Vanora's arm to land limply on the floor.

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tbc


	4. Chapter Four

**Title: **By Our Own Hands

**Author: **Surreal44

**Rating: **PG-13, to be safe

**Pairings: **None.

**Archive: **If you like :)

**Summary: **Bors finds an injured Tristan and cares for him. Friendship fic, non-slash. Rated for blood, possible mild swearing.

**Feedback:** If you all would be so kind, yes please.

**Beta Credits:** Thanks to ScoutLover and EvilJacquie! You gals are the best!

_KAKAKAKA_

A few seconds of stunned silence fell over the room. Vanora, tears still glistening in her eyes, lifted Tristan's limp hand off of the floor and pressed it to her lips, her fingers unconsciously rubbing a soothing pattern along the bruised knuckles. Dagonet smiled shakily at the red-haired woman and shifted Tristan in his arms slightly so that he could press a hand against Tristan's neck to check the pulse.

"Dag?" Bors asked hoarsely, fearfully. Tristan's heavy breathing had faded away and although Bors thought he could detect the faint rise and fall of Tristan's chest, he just wasn't sure.

Dagonet rubbed Tristan's shoulder gently and spoke quietly, his calm voice comforting to everyone in the room. "He's all right, Bors. Just worn out." Tristan stirred against him and golden eyes fluttered then opened half-way. Dag grinned down at Tristan. "And too stubborn to know when he should just lie still. Come, Bors. Help me lift him. He needs to know you are here."

Vanora started to move away but the hand she held suddenly curled around her own and she stopped. Tristan was looking at her, his glazed golden eyes desperate. "Please don't leave," he begged her.

"I won't," Vanora promised, and settled down next to him as Bors cautiously approached them. "I'm right here, Tristan," she said softly, her fingers still rubbing soothing circles on his hand. Tristan blinked and when he looked back up at her there was the barest hint of recognition in his eyes.

"Vanora?" Tristan whispered. He tore his gaze away from her face and looked down at their entwined hands. The Sarmatian lifted his other hand and tentatively touched her cheek and rubbed her smooth skin with his rough fingers as if trying assure himself that she was really there. Vanora lifted the bandaged hand that she held and pressed a kiss to his knuckles, and that at last seemed to convince Tristan, because he relaxed against Dagonet's chest a little more, his hand dropping back down to rest on his chest. "I'm so confused. I don't know what's happening to me," he whispered.

The British woman smiled sadly at him and brushed back his dark hair from his face, her hand gently caressing his warm skin. "I know. Go to sleep, Tristan. You're safe now," she said, continuing to stroke his cheek.

Tristan's eyes fluttered shut at her words, but then he opened them a second later when he sensed Bors kneeling beside him. Tristan gripped Vanora's hand a little more tightly, his glazed golden eyes watching the other Knight warily. Despite his weakened state the scout looked ready to bolt again and Bors wasn't sure if Tristan's body could handle any more stress.

"Tristan?" Bors asked carefully, not moving any more than necessary so that he didn't frighten the confused scout. "Do you know who I am?" Silently he willed his friend to remember him and to let him help. The sound of the door being opened and closed barely registered with Bors because he was so focused on Tristan.

Tristan studied his friend's face intently, the tension slowly draining from his body. "Bors," he breathed in drowsy recognition before his eyes rolled up in his head and his head lolled limply to the side. Bors and Vanora exchanged worried glances, and simultaneously looked to Dagonet for guidance.

Dagonet gently shifted Tristan in his arms again, this time to hook one of his muscular arms under the scout's knees so that he could lift him. His other arm was wrapped around Tristan's thin shoulders and Dagonet pulled the unconscious man closer to his body, making certain that Tristan's head was supported on his broad shoulder. "We need to get him back in bed," he said. "Bors, help me lift him. He's bleeding again and I need to check the stitches."

As always Dagonet sounded calm, but Bors knew by the tight lines around his friend's mouth that he was concerned. Tristan's health was still precarious at best, and he could only hope that the scout had not managed to do irreparable damage to his already weakened body. Bors helped steady Dagonet by gripping the man's shoulders and pulling gently, they stood easily without jostling the limp body in Dagonet's arms.

"I believe that Arthur has gone to get Castillus," the scarred Knight said to Bors as he settled the younger man on the bed. Bors blinked in surprise, as he hadn't realized that Arthur had even left the room.

"Good," Bors replied shortly, and stood by in case Dagonet needed help. Tristan remained unconscious, even when the bandage stuck slightly to the seeping wound. Dagonet frowned and carefully worked at removing the linen, making certain that no fibers were stuck in the torn edges of the wound. He had just finished removing the last of the bandaging around Tristan's abdomen when the door opened again and Castillus rushed in.

"Let me see to him," the old surgeon commanded, though his tone was not unkind. Dagonet stepped back and watched the wizened man work over his patient with interest. The Roman was gentle with Tristan, examining the wound carefully and murmuring quiet words of comfort whenever the scout showed signs of distress. "This will need to be re-stitched," he said quietly, and looked up at Dagonet. "I will clean it out first and then close it back up."

As Castillus worked over the prone scout Bors went over and helped Vanora to her feet. She hugged Bors briefly, and then stood next to him as they both watched the Roman work over Tristan. The scout was showing signs of waking, and Bors was torn between the desire to see his friend conscious and the fear of Tristan injuring himself further while lost in his delirium.

Castillus looked up at the two of them and smiled, but the soft gray eyes were worried. "It would be easier at the moment if there were less people here," he suggested carefully. Bors scowled but Vanora placed her hand on his arm and smiled reassuringly at Castillus.

"Bors was just going to look for Arthur," she said sweetly. Stunned, he turned his glare on the flame-haired woman, who sent her own stern glare right back at him. Inwardly he groaned; he recognized the set expression on her face. It was the one she usually wore when dealing with their unruly twins. Considering how well she managed to keep both sets in line, Bors knew that arguing with her would only make the situation worse.

"Yes," he muttered resentfully. "I was going to go look for Arthur." Tristan had fallen silent once more, but even in his unconscious state the creases of pain had not left the younger man's face. "I'll go talk to him, but I will be back," he added in a manner that dared any of them to deny him. Castillus and Dagonet both seemed unimpressed with his tone, and instead turned their attention back to Tristan's injury. Grumbling under his breath about the lack of respect, Bors stomped outside.

Vanora followed after Bors, and she closed the door behind her as she joined him in the hall. "I suppose I should go speak with Arthur," he groused to the woman that he claimed as his wife.

"Talk, Bors," Vanora added with a small quirk of her lips. "Don't beat him. He was very distraught, you know." Bors scowled, but when her green eyes grew stormy, he rolled his eyes and sighed gustily.

"Fine, fine. I'll _talk _to him," he snapped. Vanora regarded him silently for a minute, and then she stood on her toes so she could give him a kiss. His irritation melted away and he returned her kiss and held her against his body, taking a small measure of comfort just from holding her. Then he released her and sighed.

"I'll go talk to him now." Vanora opened her mouth and he quickly added, "And I'll be nice." When she opened her mouth again, he thundered, "What now, woman?"

Instead of looking crushed by his shout, she had the audacity to giggle at him, and simply said, "I love you."

That threw Bors, and he gaped at her for a moment. "Love you too," he said gruffly. "I'm leavin' now," he added firmly, and walked off, grumbling about women and how they made everything so difficult.

_KAKAKA_

Back inside the room, Tristan was growing steadily more restless as the torn section of skin was bathed. Only a small portion of the actual wound would need to be re-stitched, but the process was still painful. "He's probably hurting just about everywhere," Dagonet said softly to Castillus.

The surgeon nodded in agreement. "Let's get this done before he wakes," he said. He bent to his task, while Dagonet gently held the scout's arms down to the bed. The younger Knight moaned as the needle pierced his inflamed skin, and Dagonet leaned down to whisper soothingly in Tristan's ear, all the while maintaining a gentle grip on the scout's arms to keep him from pushing Castillus away. The stitching didn't take very long, and the surgeon was nearly done when the scout tensed beneath his hands.

"Just hold for a few more minutes, my friend," Dagonet said as Tristan's eyes slowly opened. "You are safe. Castillus is working on you right now and he is almost done."

The scout looked around the room fearfully as if he couldn't recall where he was. Castillus had paused in his work, not wanting to startle his patient if he could help it. Finally Tristan relaxed a little, and his eyes started to slide shut.

"Tristan, wake up. I need you to look at me," Castillus commanded sternly. Surprised by the tone of voice, the scout obeyed without a protest. He blinked up at the surgeon in confusion, and the older man softened his voice slightly. "I know this hurts, but I am nearly finished. Stay awake."

"Bossy, isn't he," Dagonet asked Tristan, purposely drawing his friend into a conversation to ensure that he did not sink back to sleep. Castillus smiled and finished stitching the wound just as Vanora entered the room again.

He knotted the last stitch and cut the thread. The Roman smiled at Vanora and he left Tristan's side to retrieve some bandages. Vanora seated herself on the chair beside the bed and held Tristan's hand in hers, speaking softly to him to keep him awake.

Dagonet joined Castillus by the small table and the surgeon smiled wanly at him. "I am going to bandage him up again. I think his one ankle will need to be splinted. I will return after I have gathered the necessary items."

The giant Knight nodded in understanding. "Can I do anything for you?" he asked hopefully. Castillus picked up a jar from the table and nodded. He explained that the salve was to be put on the various scrapes on Tristan's chest, hands, wrists and ankles. Dagonet looked at the jar and then at the surgeon. "What happened to him?"

Castillus rubbed his jaw and sighed, a sure sign that something was troubling him. Dagonet had known the man for years, back when they had both been assigned to the fort in Eboracum. Before he had been placed under arrest for disobedience, Dagonet had studied with Castillus and he knew how to read the man's actions.

"Tristan cannot be allowed to sleep yet," Castillus said with reluctance tingeing his voice. "In a few hours, perhaps, it will be safe, but not just yet."

Dagonet frowned, but he nodded in understanding. "You want to prevent a repeat of what happened earlier," he guessed. It was not uncommon for surgeons to keep their patients from sleeping when a head injury was involved.

"Yes," Castillus agreed unhappily. "I fear he sank too deeply into sleep before. Blood loss, a head injury, plus whatever the Woads used on him –"

"What do you mean?" Dagonet interrupted urgently. "You think that he has been poisoned?" The more he thought about it, the more it made sense. Tristan's confusion could easily have been attributed to the head injury, but perhaps Castillus had seen something that the others had not.

The Roman shrugged and frowned. "Poisoned or drugged. While Bors left to go get some more bandages for me, Tristan woke and I tried to give him water. He refused, mumbling about how he knew what I was really trying to do. He passed out again before I could question him further."

As Dagonet looked more alarmed, the surgeon hastened to reassure him. "I'm not certain what they gave him, but I am positive that it is finally wearing off. If he shows no more signs of confusion in a few hours, we'll let him doze for a while. Now, I must get those supplies…take care of his other injuries, and we'll fix his ankle."

Dagonet nodded and returned to Tristan's bed. Vanora was still talking softly to the scout and he was looking at her with heavy-lidded eyes. While the younger man was somewhat distracted, Dagonet began smearing the cool salve on the various scrapes that covered Tristan's body. The ankles looked the worst. The left ankle was badly swollen and bruised, and both joints bore raw red marks from being bound. It was no wonder that Tristan had collapsed when he put pressure on his foot. Gently, he began to spread the salve on the broken skin.

"Don't," Tristan's hoarse voice broke through Dagonet's thoughts. His steel-blue eyes looked up at the injured Knight. "It hurts."

Vanora squeezed Tristan's hand gently and made a soft, soothing sound. "It's all right, Tristan. It will only sting for a moment." Glazed golden eyes fastened on Vanora again and he nodded. Dagonet finished with Tristan's ankles and then he quickly examined the thin wrists. He smeared some salve on them as well, with only one faint, listless protest from Tristan.

"Done for now," Dagonet said with a small smile. The door opened and Castillus walked in. The two men conferred quietly, and once more they went over to Tristan's bed. "Tristan," Dagonet said softly. "We're going to bind your ankle. It will hurt for a few minutes, but it will help it heal."

Tristan's panicked gaze flew to Vanora's face, and she stroked back a few strands of dark hair from the bruised face. "I will stay with you," she assured him. "Just hold my hand and squeeze when the pain is too much."

When the scout nodded, Castillus and Dagonet set to work. They did not want Tristan to change his mind. The surgeon had already decided there were no fractures in the bone, so they simply had to splint the ankle and wrap it. Still, it was excruciating for the scout and he squeezed Vanora's hand until it was red. She made no sound of complaint however, and when it was finally over, she kissed the now limp hand that she held.

Tristan looked so young it made her heart ache. Drained and exhausted, he looked ready to drop into sleep at any moment. "Did I hurt you?" he asked in a thick voice. Vanora shook her head and rested his hand on the bed.

"No, you didn't hurt me. I do need to leave for a few minutes though. I promise I will be back in a little while." She stood and pressed a gentle kiss to his warm forehead. "Dagonet will sit with you for a bit, all right?"

"'Kay," he answered wearily. He managed a small smile at her when she tugged the blankets up to his chest and tucked them around his body in a motherly fashion. Then she kissed his cheek and reassured him that she would return soon.

As she walked over to Dagonet and Castillus, Vanora rubbed her sore back. She needed to stretch her legs and take care of some personal business, and make certain that her small brood of children had not gotten into any mischief.

Dagonet grinned at her and she smiled fondly at the scarred Knight. "Dag, could you sit with Tristan? I will be back shortly. I just want to check on my family." Castillus patted her shoulder and walked back over to Tristan, and began speaking to him quietly while he propped the injured ankle up on a folded blanket.

"I will be glad to, Vanora. Take all the time you need." Dagonet hugged the fiery little red-head against his chest. "We'll be fine while you're gone."

Vanora raised a brow at him as he released her, and she only smiled and shook her head in response to his statement. She left the room, and Dagonet went to take her place beside Tristan, who greeted him sleepily. The scout was finally relaxed and he seemed to know where he was. Watching over the scout until Vanora returned would be easy.

_---tbc_

**Response to reviewers:**

Skittles: Your request is my command. ;) I hope this meets your expectations. Hopefully there will not be such a big delay between now and the next update.

NotAMorningPerson: I'm just happy to get reviews at all. Thank you so much for your kind comments. I like to explore the other side of Tristan and what might be under that cool exterior. Bors was my favorite Knight and I see him as sort of taking care of the others if he can. I will try to update more often. 

Newsieskane: I love the relationship between Bors and Tristan too. I got the idea from the book actually. When Trist®an and Bors go off to hunt after the Saxons, I just wondered how close they actually were, and one thing led to another…Thanks for the review!

empath89: Bors was actually my favorite Knight. I loved his sense of humor, the way he handled his kids, and his passion. He was just so cool. Tristan is gorgeous and he's an incredible character to work with, but I really wanted to write something with Bors in it. Thanks for the review!

romantique-desespere: I agree there is far too little Bors in fanfics. He's such a great character. Thanks for the review!

Alexssmarty: I'm glad you like confused!Tristan. It was difficult to write, because Tristan is always so in control of himself. And yes, I do have more stories planned with Bors and Tristan in them. If you haven't seen it, then you might want to look up The Wooden Hawk, which takes place about a year and a half after this story does. I know, I know, writing the sequel before the first story is done…I hope you like this chapter! Sorry for the long update. I noticed you left me another review to update soon. LOL!

The Wild Woman: Thanks for the review! I agree, Arthur should have noticed, but he's young and still learning. Things will get better soon, I promise.

Tracy137: Thanks so much for your kind words. I have settled into the story, but I had to work out a few minor kinks. I realize now that I will have to go back eventually and revamp the story so all the details fit together properly.

I try to inject a little humor into my fics. I don't like too much angst because then it just becomes depressing.

ElvenStar5, Shevaun, Boondockgal, Eshlyn Kar, Could you consider to…,Dferveiro, Silver Salamander, and SnakeMistress: Thank you all for your reviews. I can't tell you how much I appreciate it!


	5. Chapter Five

**Title:** By Our Own Hands, Chapter Five

**Author:** Surreal44

**Rating:** PG-13, to be safe

**Pairings:** None.

**Archive:** If you like :)

**Summary:** Bors finds an injured Tristan and cares for him. Friendship fic, non-slash. Rated for blood, possible mild swearing.

**Feedback:** If you all would be so kind, yes please.

**Beta Credits:** Thanks to ScoutLover and EvilJacquie! You gals are the best!

**Note to the Reviewers:** I don't have time to respond to all the great reviews I received. I'm so sorry for the delay; I promise I will try to keep up with my writing from now on. Thanks for all your patience, and I hope you enjoy this next chapter!

_KAKAKA_

"Disrespectful woman," Bors grumbled to himself as he stomped his way through the barracks toward the exit. "Who does she think she is? Just wait, I'll show her—" he stopped speaking and quickly looked around to make certain that his flame-haired woman and her hot temper were not somehow following him. Despite his bold words, he knew exactly how Vanora would respond to him 'putting her in her place'. She'd either laugh out-right at him, or, more likely, chuck something hard at his skull.

Bors relaxed when he had assured himself that he was alone, but only slightly. If he was going to complain about Vanora, best to do it only in his mind. Who knew who might over-hear him, and run to report to her? In fact, to be safe, he'd best not even think about bossing Vanora around. That woman an uncanny sense about things and she'd no doubt figure out what was going around in his mind, and she'd still be angry at him.

He finally stepped outside and for a moment he paused to enjoy the blessedly cool evening air that brushed lightly against his body. He hadn't realized how stuffy Tristan's room was until this very moment. Some of the tension drained from Bors' body and with it some of his anger at Arthur. He would still demand answers from Arthur, but he also understood that the commander had to sometimes ask things of his men even if he didn't want to.

Arthur was no doubt exhausted and would probably be in bed. Or writing some of the endless reports or going over the fort's accounts. Bors wondered when Arthur actually slept, quite honestly. The few days he had been partially left in charge of the fort had left Bors wanting to throttle every person who had approached him with a question in their eyes. The most logical place to look for Arthur then would be his quarters.

"Of course," Bors thought dryly to himself five minutes later. "This is Arthur, so logic isn't always in abundance when dealing with him."

The good Roman commander had not, of course, been in his quarters so late at night. Neither was he in baths nor in the small chapel that housed the Roman god. Bors pursed his lips in annoyance when he saw the empty room. He had already peered briefly into the fortress hall but he hadn't seen Arthur. Still, Bors made his way back in that direction, hopeful that maybe he had only just missed running into Arthur.

He blew out a breath of utter exasperation when once again Arthur's room and the fortress hall proved to be empty. He stood in the room with the Round Table and fumed silently to himself. No one he had asked so far had seen the commander either. Where the bloody hell had Arthur gone?

A polite cough broke the silence and Bors turned to glare at the person who was disturbing his quiet temper tantrum. Gaius was standing in the doorway, a crooked smile on his face. "Having troubles, Bors?" he asked with a small chuckle. As the Sarmatian's glare turned darker, Gaius held up his hands in defeat. "I heard you were looking for Arthur."

"Yes, so I can kill him," Bors growled. His temper was frayed to the breaking point and he was ready to give up for the night and return to Tristan. The scout could be waking up soon and although he knew Dagonet and Vanora would be good to him, Bors felt a certain jealousy that someone might take his place at Tristan's side when he was ill. Arthur was preventing him from being by his friend's side and it was grating on Bors nerves.

Gaius looked about as impressed with Bors' threat to kill Arthur as Vanora had when Bors had taken a stern tone with her just a short while ago. Maybe it was the red hair that made them so disrespectful, the Sarmatian thought to himself. "Well, you can find Arthur on the roof of the stable," Gaius supplied helpfully.

"The roof?" he demanded. Bors stared at the thin man standing in front of him. "Are you sure?"

"We Romans are a strange lot," the quartermaster said with a small shrug and a wide grin. "But yes, he is on the roof. I was up there a few minutes ago, trying to convince him to come down and eat something, but he won't."

Bors snorted in disgust. "What, is he trying to make himself sick?" he inquired sarcastically. What was it about this fort that made otherwise sensible people abandon all form of common sense?

The smile fell a little on Gaius' face. "Perhaps he is trying to make himself ill," he replied softly. The two men looked at one another as they thought this over before Bors let out another gusty breath of air.

"Idiot. Damn it." He rubbed his head and sighed. "Vanora was right again."

Gaius wasn't quite sure what Bors was talking about, but his quick smile had returned. "So you'll talk to him?" he asked with a relieved voice.

"Fine, fine." Bors grumbled. "Guess I'll have to. Someone has to knock some common sense into that man's skull. Might as well be me." He resolutely ignored the quartermaster's laughter as he stomped out of the fortress hall to go to the stable. Half-way to his destination the Sarmatian changed course. If Arthur wouldn't come down and eat, he would take some food to Arthur.

Much to his surprise, Vanora was in the tavern, counting out the money on the bar. It was probably a good time to do so, since almost everyone was in bed at the time and the tavern was technically closed.

"What are you doing here, Bors?" Vanora asked. She was smiling but her green eyes were snapping at him. Obviously she thought he had abandoned his quest, so Bors hastened to assure his little woman about what he was doing.

"I'm just getting some food for Arthur," he explained. This appeased Vanora and she moved toward the pot of stew that was kept warm for scouts and soldiers who returned to the fort at odd hours. Vanora and the other woman who ran the tavern always left something warm on the fire, and the Romans and Sarmatians both appreciated it. No wonder the women were so adored by the soldiers. "I don't think I can carry stew to the roof of the stable, love," he added before she had spooned any of it out into a bowl.

"What?" Vanora asked in surprise. She set the bowl down and instead wrapped some of the leftover bread and cheese from dinner in linen, and stuffed the small parcel into what appeared to be a rations pack. Bors blinked and wondered just how many of those sacks Vanora had, and how often she filled them to send out with the soldiers.

"You are such a mother," he noted. When she simply arched her brow at him he shrugged his massive shoulders. "Gaius thinks that perhaps Arthur is trying to become ill. Maybe some sort of…" here Bors paused to remember the word the commander used to explain some of the strange actions he took when he was upset. "A penance. Though it seems like a bloody stupid one to me."

He wanted to ask about Tristan, but refrained so that Vanora could fuss over Arthur first. She added some apples to the pack of food, and tied it shut, and handed it to him, along with a small wine skin. "It's cider," she said pointedly. "No sense in the two of you getting drunk and falling off the roof."

Bors laughed briefly, then he finally asked her, "So how is Tristan?"

"He's awake," she said reluctantly. She knew how Bors felt about Tristan, and she felt a small twinge of guilt that Bors had not been there with the scout when he had finally regained consciousness. "Dagonet and Castillus are with him right now. He needs to remain quiet," she said firmly, hoping that she could dissuade Bors from going to visit Tristan. Arthur obviously needed someone to talk to, and she certainly wasn't going to go traipsing about the roof in her condition.

"Are you saying that I'm not quiet?" he asked her, his voice suddenly husky. She grinned at the lusty tone and at the familiar glint in his eyes. He had been injured and then busy with his light duties recently, so they had not been spending much time together. By the look on his face, it was obvious that he was ready to remedy that situation.

Vanora kissed him deeply and he returned her passion. "I've missed this," he whispered against her ear. "I've missed you." She rested her head against his chest for a few minutes and pulled away.

"Go on then. Arthur needs you, and then Tristan will need you too," she said with a final kiss. "Then when you are finished, come back to me."

"I will," Bors promised. He attached the pack of food to his belt and took up the wine skin. "Go get some rest yourself, woman. I intend on keeping you very busy come the next nightfall," he warned her. Unable to resist, he kissed her once more and finally took his leave of her.

**--tbc**


End file.
